Aileen's Song (11 page)

Dressed in exercise clothes, now focused and intent the rehearsal session began.

It was brutal. Siobhan, by far the one most used to such physical precision, even broke into a sweat as Max carefully built on the message of the song by developing fluid movements that enhanced Siobhan's command of the stage during musical bridges. During the verses, each of them had a solo and claimed the spotlight, yet Max was careful to orchestrate the production so each of them remained engaged with the audience.

The hour flew by. In the end, even Max—a notorious perfectionist according to Liam—seemed happy with the results. Now it was time to clean up and prepare for a luncheon meet-and-greet with select members of the media designed to introduce the group in a public way, promote the concert and start building interest.

For Aileen, this moment was far scarier than any critique or instruction laid on her by their demanding choreographer. They needed to be on-point and dazzling. They needed to win the hearts of the media so that the media, in turn, would help promote the upcoming show.

They showered and changed into wardrobes she would best describe as casual chic. Aileen, who continued to pound out the hours in Zumba class, still felt so awkward and unbalanced when she compared herself to her three friends. She chose soft lavender palazzo pants paired with a white silk shell that flowed perfectly over her body and usually made her feel confident and pretty—but there was no hiding curves and a full, statuesque form, especially when standing next to the diminutive Siobhan and the gorgeous Kassidy. Maeve was average in height and size, but her beguiling green eyes, fair skin, and vibrant red hair made her a complete knock out.

Aileen felt somewhat plain by comparison.

“Stop that.” Maeve edged close and gave Aileen a gentle poke in the back, glowering into the mirror they shared in a cramped but well-lit dressing room.

“Stop what?”

“Criticizing yourself with your eyes. I hate when you do that.”

Aileen fastened a layered gold chain into place around her neck then grabbed a hair brush. “You're mean.”

“Yep. Now, if you're finished chatting with the devil, won't you please join me in enjoying this moment?” A smile exploded across Maeve's face. “Can you even believe this?”

Aileen looked into her friend's sparkling eyes and the voice of evil fled. She laughed and propped her head against Maeve's shoulder. “I know, right?”

Following a nod and a soft squeal, Maeve wrapped an arm around Aileen's waist and squeezed. Somewhat restored, Aileen fluffed her hair then used a pair of sparkly clips to secure the sides away from her face.

Kassidy looked at the wall clock and straightened her shoulders, drawing in a deep gulp of air. “It's time.”

“To pray.” Siobhan issued the decree. In prompt order, the foursome created a tight circle, arms around one another, heads bowed.

Increasingly comfortable with these moments of unity and offering, Aileen steadied her nerves and began. “Lord, help us use this opportunity to honor You. May Your Spirit guide and inspire what we say and do to bring about Your plan for all of this. In Your precious name we pray.”

“Amen,” came the unified conclusion.

Before they disbursed, four hands came together in the middle of their circle, clasped tight and forever bound.

 



 

“Aileen, your voice is simply incredible.”

“Thank you so much, I appreciate the compliment.” Aileen smiled with deep and sincere appreciation. Presently she was the interview subject of Roberta Goldfield, reporter on the entertainment and culture beat for the Tri-State Today morning television show. The present segment would appear on tomorrow's edition.

“The four of you are practicing Catholics, correct?”

“Yes, we are.” Aileen waited in steadiness, a strange sense of peace and comfort working through her body. She angled her head just enough so the light from the cameraman's equipment didn't become blinding.

“At the same time, as we all just saw in a video clip, your music is full of a very universal sense of Christian meaning and importance.”

“Absolutely.” Aileen had a feeling she knew where this interview was heading.

“What would you say to those who express concern that your religious affiliation might overshadow your performances? Is that a legitimate fear? What message do you hope to deliver to those who are devout Christians, but non-Catholics?”

Aileen didn't rush to answer. She waited a beat so peace and surrender could flow through her spirit. “What I would hope to say to them say is this. Christ's love is universal. His message of redemption, mercy and grace are for all people. Our concert next month will feature music that's an invitation to everyone, no matter what their affiliation, to embrace a few hours of God's beauty and power through song. To complicate matters beyond that truth would be a disservice to all of us, no matter what the denomination of our home church.”

She capped the interlude with another smile that filled her eyes and spirit, showering the moment with her conviction.

“Aileen, congratulations, and we wish you every success as you take over Westerville Theater in just a few short weeks. Rest assured, WPBB will be there to share the moment!”

“We look forward to it.”

Roberta slipped into the crowd, seeming to head in Kassidy's direction. Aileen blew out softly through pursed lips, offering a huge and emphatic prayer of thanks for Divine intervention.

A fingertip moved slow and light against the length of her forearm and stirred goose bumps when Liam stepped close. His eyes danced and flashed. He leaned in. “You were absolutely brilliant.”

“I was absolutely Spirit led.” Despite emotional turmoil toward Liam, she chuckled, and a thrill swept on through.

With a wink and a nod, he handed her a clear plastic tumbler of cola over ice. Aileen accepted the thoughtful gesture with a long look into his eyes that quenched much more than a simple physical thirst.

 



 

Brimming with enthusiasm and purpose, Aileen continued to accept handshakes, the press of cheek-to-cheek, congratulations and an overall feeling that she just might survive being scrutinized by reporters. During a break in the reception, she stood in a quiet nook, closing her eyes for a moment of meditative stillness. Her pulse and adrenaline levels slowly returned to normal while expectation built for the show to come.

The voice of Roberta Goldfield intruded on the moment and captured her attention.

“The girls are an absolute marvel. I can't wait to let people know about the show. I knew they'd be a hit as soon as I saw the video. And Aileen, what a powerhouse of a voice, but—” Aileen's eyes came open at that point.
But.
Life always seemed to hand over a
but
. Furthermore, that blasted three-letter qualifier always negated any preceding compliment. “—with her leadership and stage presence, it's a shame she carries those, shall we say, supple curves rather than the svelte features everyone covets.”

Aileen tuned out promptly, hanging her head until the tumbling waves of her hair formed a protective curtain. Yeah, like hiding from reality would help. Poison arrows struck her heart and pierced her most sensitive vulnerabilities, her confidence, physicality and sense of self-worth.

Warm hands came to rest on her shoulders, heavy and strong. “Look at me.” Liam's voice reached her, low, but firm and intent. “Right now.”

Aileen cursed herself for every quiver of her lips, for the betraying sheen of tears that coated her eyes. She firmed her spine and flipped her hair, looking up with a smile. Pushing aside the hurt, she spoke not a word.

Liam's expression made it clear he had heard Roberta's analysis. That ripped her tender heart to shreds. His hands dropped away. He didn't smile; he didn't comfort or coddle. Instead, he stared straight into her eyes and moved directly into her space, a shield from the world at large.

“Remember the coffee shop, Aileen. Remember the coffee shop. Do you hear me?”

She nodded, afraid of croaking out some type of senseless reply. Still, she remembered. He had called her beautiful. Elegant. They were such precious words. But were they really true?

Liam continued, jaw set, breathtakingly handsome. “You've been described, by those gathered right here and right now as, and I quote, ‘A living incarnation of timeless beauty.' You're real. You're not overweight by anyone's standards except the entertainment industry, and you're going to knock even that belief flat on its backside. You're sunlight. You're natural, and you're a lady. Ailee, you're going to fill that theater. Let the world keep its emaciated waifs. You're a woman little girls are going to look up to as real. You're a woman any parent will happily uplift as a role model, not just because you're beautiful, but because you're equally stunning on the inside. Don't let a tactless display like that woman just pulled leave you doubting who and what you are, and who and what you're going to become.”

Aileen swallowed a huge lump in her throat and kept trying to blink back tears.

“You're exquisite, Ailee. Don't ever, ever forget that. I repeat. Do you hear me?”

The brick wall at her back was cool and solid. It held her up as she fell back slightly and drifted into Liam's eyes. Not once did he reach out in comfort. Not once did he smile. He was fierce and emphatic. Physical connection was unnecessary when his gaze held her so snugly in place. His words, his untainted belief, brushed a healing balm against her soul.

All at once, every negative sensation vanished from her mind—and her heart.

 

 

 

 

11

 

Aileen gasped, and then she sighed. “Oh, my word, these gowns are gorgeous, positively gorgeous! Liam—this is fantastic!” She promptly fingered the material, fingertips dancing over crystals and satin in a vivid hue of deepest green. She sighed all over again while Liam was left to shake his head and puzzle at the delighted curve of her lips, her wide sparkling eyes.

“Remember, Aileen, thou shalt not covet satin.”

“You're absolutely right. But thou shalt covet sparkly crystals.”

Sharing laughter, they stood in the makeup room which rapidly filled with noise and activity. Aileen faced a rack of elaborate, eye-catching gowns, and her adoring gaze never once left the garments. She lifted a swatch to her cheek and issued a delighted purr. An endless round of measurements, fabric choices and color samples had culminated quite successfully it seemed. Aileen's fingertips roved the waistband and the pattern of swirls formed by the embedded stones. Liam chuckled, because by now, Siobhan, Maeve, and Kassidy joined her in raving over the wardrobe delivery.

Kassidy released a gasp of her own. “Oh, and just look at the shoes!”

She bounded for a portable rack that hung from the edge of a closet door. The shoes were stored in neat stacks in individual cloth cubbies. Each pair was stickered and identified for the girls by name and set segment. By now, Liam was lost. He exchanged a befuddled look with the only other male in the room, a wardrobe tech who plugged in a portable steamer so the costumes could be pressed. Showtime was less than two hours away.

“Wardrobe euphoria.” Liam shrugged. “It's a girl thing, right?”

“Definitely,” the bliss-ridden quartet answered in unison.

He laughed once more. “Follow me. If you think the clothes are great, wait until you see the stage.”

Liam didn't exaggerate. The words
Sisters in Spirit
came to life in the form of a scripted metal sculpture illuminated by hundreds of tiny white lights. The decoration hung toward the back of the stage and was given dashes of color and emphasis whenever the overhead lighting units shifted hue or intensity. The red velvet stage curtain was drawn into a loose swag that framed a wide set of stairs. The setting spoke of elegance. It was perfect, and Liam was proud of the effort his label had exerted.

Now all they needed to do was win over a sold-out audience and execute what he prayed would be the performance of a lifetime.

No pressure. No pressure at all.

 



 

“Our next selection is a song steeped in wondrous history. In fact, it dates clear back to Saint Thomas Aquinas. It's called ‘Panis Angelicus'.” Applause rang out. Aileen acknowledged the audience's approval with a nod. “I'm so glad some of you know it. It's a lovely piece, isn't it? ‘Panis Angelicus' translates from Latin into the words Heavenly Bread.” Aileen allowed a few seconds for that beautiful image sink in—for her and for those gathered in the audience of the Westerville Theater. “The words speak of bread from an angelic host, sent to nourish all of mankind. I hope you enjoy it.” An expectant hush settled through the atmosphere, and Aileen stepped into the moment, her fingertips curving lightly against the mic stand.

The theater went dark. The sweet strains of a violin soared into the air. A single spotlight came to life in a golden frame. Breathe in, breathe out, she thought. Liam had once referred to this song as her anthem; she was determined to do it justice.

Three minutes of soul-deep worship poured from her heart. The tune, an ancient melody, shared God's love at its deepest levels. This song didn't just fill the venue, it hummed beneath her skin.

Her last ‘Amen' lifted high. Once the music faded to silence, a moment of suspense—of awe—was followed by thunderous applause. Aileen swept into a deep, reverent bow not meant as much for the onlookers as for God Himself. Nothing filled her with as much joy as sharing His music. She knew that now without equivocation.

When she rose, smile in place, her breath caught. The audience had launched into a standing ovation accompanied by prolonged applause and cheers. She trembled, heart thundering as she tried to maintain control. She curtseyed, leaving the stage on limbs that weren't at all steady.